


The Trick is to Keep Breathing

by enigma731



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mentors, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Change, it turns out, is even more exhausting than saving the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trick is to Keep Breathing

Natasha is up early enough that the morning requires coffee rather than her usual tea. She’s brewed it strong since she first conceded to drinking it--because coffee is all about the caffeine, Clint’s hammered into her over the years--but she’s never learned to like the bitterness, has to resist the urge to grimace a bit when the first sip hits her tongue. 

Still, she’s already on her second mug by the time she makes her way to the office she shares with Steve, so new that she can smell a faint hint of paint fumes. It’s just a regular Monday morning, she tells herself, just a day when she wants to get things done before anyone else is awake, before the morning training session with her new team. She’s definitely not here now because she’s spent the majority of the night counting the ceiling tiles and watching the sky get lighter. This place is too quiet. She misses the racket of New York City, even after years of complaining about it.

Natasha sits in front of the dual computer monitors that take up most of the wall in her half of the office and begins to sift through the myriad of data accumulated by the nets she leaves cast in the world’s communications streams. She doesn’t get far, though, is interrupted by the sound of footfalls behind her. Not Steve, she thinks, because the steps are too light. 

She isn’t entirely surprised when she turns around to find Maria in the doorway, looking about as tired as Natasha feels. Change, it turns out, is even more exhausting than saving the world.

“You’re up early,” Maria says by way of greeting, and suddenly Natasha wonders whether her recent streak of sleepless nights might be more evident than she’s realized.

“You too,” she says simply. “Problem?”

Maria shakes her head, taking a few steps closer and sitting in the chair Steve normally occupies, swiveling it to face Natasha. “Technically no. More like--a logistical situation you should be aware of.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Maria sucks in a breath, then sighs. “Phil--Agent Coulson. He’s--”

“Not dead?” Natasha interrupts, watching as Maria relaxes visibly, a smile taking the place of her apprehension.

“You knew?”

Natasha shrugs. “Not like he did a very good job of staying off the grid.”

Maria snorts. “Well, you know. He was never particularly good at _subtle._ ”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “But why are we talking about him now?”

“It seems he’s lost a hand,” says Maria, her tone promising that this is not a joke. “So he’s coming here, to consult with Helen and Stark about a replacement.”

“So--what?” asks Natasha, the pieces still not quite falling into place. “You’re telling me so I can help with his cover? Assuming he still wants to maintain the illusion of being dead.”

Maria shakes her head. “No, I’ll handle that. But he wanted me to tell you he’s bringing the girl with him. The one who used to be a member of the Rising Tide? You might want to keep an eye on her during the visit, make sure our computer system stays secure.”

Natasha nods, deciding it’s still too early to really evaluate this information. “I can do that.”

Maria stands curtly, takes three strides toward the door, then pauses. “And, Natasha? Please don’t let him find out that you already knew about his current--state of living. He’ll pout for weeks if he does.”

* * *

Natasha finds the girl in the commissary just after the lunch rush has begun to thin out. 

It feels odd to her, having a facility with enough day-to-day visitors to require a food service like this. The Avengers compound is more elaborate than an old S.H.I.E.L.D. field office, but still nothing like the Triskelion, or the New York headquarters where she spent the majority of her career. Some days, it makes her miss the glass microcosm of the Tower, though that never truly felt like a home to her either.

The girl--Skye, she knows from Maria’s reports on Coulson’s activity as well as the periodic updates from Bobbi--is sitting at a corner table in the back of the room, head bowed over a tablet, a sandwich and fries abandoned on a plate to her right. Natasha considers approaching her now, giving her some sort of warning, but that’s not really her style and it feels wrong besides. Skye has both the ability and the potential motivation to be a serious security risk to the Avengers’ computer systems, but the idea that Coulson is really concerned about that doesn’t sit right in Natasha’s gut. This woman just looks lost, and she has every reason to, from the minimal details Natasha’s gathered on the incidents that preceded their trip here.

Instead, Natasha makes her way over to the beverage area that’s a few yards from the table where Skye is sitting. She continues monitoring the other woman in her peripheral vision as she takes a styrofoam cup and orange tea bag, adds a packet of honey. Next is the hot water, and that requires her full attention, because she’s learned the hard way that she can’t afford a careless hand injury.

When she looks up again, Skye has put the tablet aside, is studying her with an expression that might be recognition--though Natasha isn’t going to make that leap. She’s wearing civilian clothes here, doesn’t assume that anyone knows who she is unless she’s made sure that they have no choice. 

Still, when their eyes meet, there’s a rawness that twists something in Natasha’s chest, something that reminds her of Wanda in a way she can’t quantify. She feels that gaze on her back the entire way as she heads back to her office.

* * *

They meet again the next day, in the corridor outside the lab space designated for research and development. Natasha has just finished conducting her morning rounds, and her attention is focused on the screen of her own tablet as she walks, reviewing notes on the prototype of a new comm system for the team. She nearly bumps into Skye, who’s gone still in her path.

Natasha stops short, doesn’t quite figure out what to say, taken aback by her own surprise, by her lack of situational awareness.

“You were watching me yesterday,” says Skye, more observation than accusation. “At lunch.”

Good, Natasha thinks. The girl isn’t a spy, isn’t a specialist like herself, but she’s sharp, like all of Coulson’s favorites. She offers Skye a little smile. “Apparently you were watching me too.”

Skye studies her, brow furrowing a bit in concentration. “You’re the Black Widow. You’re S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Natasha,” she corrects, holding out a hand. “And I _was_ S.H.I.E.L.D. Now I’m--” She pauses, nearly says _a free agent_ but that feels too much like one of Red Room’s lies. She shrugs. “In transition.”

The girl hesitates, then takes her hand and shakes it. “I’m Skye. I’m--”

Natasha holds up her free hand, deciding to spare her the effort of a lie. “I know why you’re here.”

The frown deepens as Skye pulls her hand back, looks at it apprehensively. “Am I--being monitored?”

A few years ago, Natasha might have been afraid of those hands, might have feared the powers she knows Skye has only recently learned to control. Today that’s the least of her concerns. “Walk with me.”

Skye falls into step beside her, though the tension radiating off of her is still palpable. Natasha is headed toward her next meeting, a briefing with her new team preceding the physical training session that will take up most of the day. She has things to say to Skye-- _don’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. make you feel like an experiment_ , for one--but once again, she misses the chance to figure out where to begin.

“You’re the one who dumped all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s intel onto the ‘net last year, right?” asks Skye, though her tone says it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” says Natasha, immediately wondering where she’s going with this, whether something of Skye’s was part of the collateral damage caught up in that decision, like she’s heard from so many others. She still doesn’t regret it, though it did seem like more of a clear-cut right choice in the moment.

“I used to have dreams about doing that,” says Skye, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite her doubts. “For a long time it was, like, the most heroic thing I could imagine.”

“But now?” asks Natasha, quirking an eyebrow. They’ve reached the locked door that leads to the Avengers’ private meeting space, and she stops in front of it.

Skye shakes her head, ignoring the question. “I was wondering--After the dump, the media had a field day with your files. Why not delete them first?”

“Because,” says Natasha, offering a smile of her own, “then I’d be no better than the people I was trying to expose.” She turns, lets the computer scan her thumb print and retina, and pushes through the door before Skye has formulated a response.

* * *

Natasha is in the gym, beating the crap out of a bag with all the pent-up energy and none of the finesse that comes with the delicate task of building her new team. She doesn’t hear the door open so much as she _feels_ the energy in the room change, instincts telling her to be on her guard. She ignores them, continues at the bag for another few minutes before finishing with a powerful roundhouse kick that sends it flying. Stepping neatly out of the path of the bag’s rebound, Natasha removes her gloves before turning her attention to Skye.

“You should see Steve go at a bag,” she says, when the other woman makes no move to speak. “Much more impressive.”

“I read your files,” says Skye, the words tumbling out in a rush. “All of them. Not today, I mean--when they first became available, after the dump.”

Natasha nods, is accustomed now to hiding the discomfort statements like that send crawling down the back of her neck. Going public was part of the penance she chose for herself; there’s no turning back now. “And what did you find?”

Skye hesitates. “You don’t have any family listed. Your partner is your next of kin.”

“Yes,” Natasha says simply, and waits for her to continue, to get to the point that she’s trying to make.

“Do you remember your parents?” asks Skye, not quite meeting her eyes.

Natasha hesitates, considers lying, but then decides there’s no point in it. She’s not about meaningless lies anymore. In fact, that’s exactly the sort she’s been trying to avoid. “Not really. Sometimes there are small things--the scent of a certain perfume, or a few notes of music--that feel like they live somewhere in my history. But real memories? No. I don’t have a lot of those for anything that came before S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Does it bother you?” asks Skye, walking toward the bag, which is still gently swinging back and forth.

Natasha shrugs, doesn’t quite want to admit that remembering dead family members is the least of her concerns regarding her past. “It is what it is.”

Darkness washes over Skye’s expression at that, curiosity receding behind a facade of indifference and something a little like betrayal. “Must be nice, having that work for you.”

Conversation over, her gaze says. Natasha decides not to fight it, pulls her gloves back on and begins to pummel the bag some more as Skye leaves.

* * *

“I spent my whole life trying to find my parents,” says Skye, and Natasha jumps, taken aback. She’d been alone in one of the briefing rooms, shutting things down after her team left. Clearly not the case anymore.

She doesn’t bother to ask how Skye got in here; obviously the girl is more than capable of getting whatever she wants. 

“And did you?” Natasha asks, though after the previous day’s aborted conversation, she has a feeling she knows the answer.

“Yes,” Skye says darkly. “You know, I always thought the worst thing would be finding out that they never wanted me in the first place.”

“And now?” Natasha prompts, because that obviously isn’t the end of the story. “What’s the worst thing?”

“They did want me,” says Skye, looking down at the palm of one hand. “They wanted me so much that they _murdered_ people to get me back. Would have kept killing to keep me and the things I can do.” Her fingers curl inward and for a moment a tremor runs through the room.

“But you’re here,” Natasha says evenly. “So obviously you didn’t let them keep you. Didn’t let them keep killing on your behalf.”

“No. Now my mother is dead and my father has no idea who I am. Or who _he_ is.” Skye shakes her head, laughs bitterly. “I was intended to be a weapon of mass destruction. Seems like I’m doing pretty great at that so far.”

This time, Natasha is interrupted by the buzz of her phone, indicating a mission alert from Steve. She curses silently before going to attend to it.

* * *

The job goes quickly, less than half a day. They locate the newly-identified Enhanced, a girl with the ability to freeze things with her touch. The new Avengers function well as a team, despite Natasha’s initial misgivings from her training sessions, and the woman is safely in containment and being processed by Maria before the end of the afternoon.

The public doesn’t seem to think things have gone so smoothly, though. A news crew has managed to get grainy footage of the whole thing, and now the media is abuzz with more accusations of secrets and lies, some vague threat they can’t quite articulate.

The television monitor in the lobby of the compound is playing continuous coverage of the incident, Natasha notices on her way through. And Skye is sitting in one of the overly plush chairs, watching it with rapt attention. Natasha debates for a moment, then closes the distance and sits on the edge of an adjacent chair without bothering to announce herself. 

“How do you do it?” asks Skye, her gaze still fixed on the television. “Keep going when people won’t stop questioning what you are?”

“I was made to be a weapon too,” says Natasha, choosing her words carefully. “And I was good at it. You read my files, you know that. But--I got lucky. I started to question what I was doing, and when I realized I was lost, I had people who told me that I had a choice.”

Skye crosses her arms, finally looks away from the news. “What choice?”

“To take what I was made to be,” says Natasha, “and use it for my own purposes.”

For a moment the silence hangs between them, then finally Natasha realizes what she needs to say, the words she’s been trying to find since Skye’s arrival here.

“You can’t erase or forget your past. You’d be a different person if it hadn’t happened, or if it had happened another way.” She pauses, waits for Skye to meet her eyes. “But your past doesn’t have to dictate your future. _You_ get to choose how you use the things that you’ve been through. What kind of person you want to become.”

Natasha reaches out and takes Skye’s hand again, holds it across the distance between their chairs and feels the shudder that runs through her body.

* * *

Something is wrong. Natasha knows the moment she walks into her office, though the security system hasn’t registered anything at all. The lights are off, but she doesn’t miss the silhouette of the person in her desk chair, offset ever so slightly by the dim light from her computer’s screensaver, pulsing green in the darkness. 

She pauses for a moment, then flips the light switch, smiling as the figure comes into view. “You know, these work just fine, Coulson. No need to sit in the dark.”

“And ruin my dramatic entrance?” he asks, giving her his most earnest expression. “Speaking of which, I thought you might be more surprised to see me here.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You think you can go to the Hub and I won’t notice? Besides, I’ve had Nick Fury hiding out at my house for the last six months. His fake death? Way more dramatic than yours.”

“ _Your_ house?” Coulson retorts.

Natasha shrugs. “One of them.”

“I’m leaving in the morning.” He sits up straighter in the chair. “But I wanted to see you first.”

“Let me guess. You want my assessment of the girl?”

He gives her an innocent little smile. “I did hear that you’d been talking.”

Natasha sighs, sits in the chair that normally belongs to Steve. “She’s sharp, but you know that. She’s also struggling right now, trying to figure out her priorities. But I think she’s ready to be whatever she chooses.”

Coulson nods, then meets her eyes. “So are you, you know.”

She should have expected this, she realizes. In hindsight, it’s the only thing that makes sense. She gives Coulson her best glare. “You set me up.”

“Yep,” he says resignedly, getting to his feet. “It’s what I do.”

“Safe travels,” says Natasha, because this is clearly another thing that’s about to end. For a moment she feels a flare of anxiety over the reminder that the S.H.I.E.L.D. she knew is gone, that she’s the one in charge of things now. But it’s a reflex, not the truth, and she pushes it aside.

“You too,” says Coulson, pausing in the doorway. “And, Natasha? Thanks.”

She waits a moment before moving to the chair he’s just vacated, then powers up the computer and prepares to see how the world is doing.


End file.
